


A Lonely Way to Burn

by takethisnight_wrapitaroundme



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Mortal, Anonymous Sex, Begging, Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, Consent, Creampie, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gangbang, Interracial Relationship, Language Barrier, One Night Stands, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, POV Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Pillory, Possessive Sex, Public Sex, Restraints, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme/pseuds/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme
Summary: While passing through a strange city on his way to somewhere else, Booker comes across a woman in a pillory.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 24
Kudos: 57
Collections: Book of Nile Collection!





	A Lonely Way to Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! Why don’t I kick things off with some BoN filth? (Apologies to all the fluffy WIPs I’ve been neglecting.) Written to fill [this prompt](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/8201.html?thread=2910473#cmt2910473) from the kinkmeme.

Booker was settling his bill at the café when he noticed a crowd starting to gather in the square outside. His first instinct was to run—this city was not known for welcoming outsiders, and he knew he should make himself scarce before the streets became dangerous. He was scheduled to be on the first ship out tomorrow morning, but until then he knew it would be best to retreat to the protective confines of his hotel room as quickly as possible.

That was the plan, but something made him stop when he reached the sidewalk. The crowd in the square was not behaving like the mobs he’d been warned about. The people were not shouting, or brandishing weapons, or pummeling some poor unfortunate into the cobblestones. Instead, they were all standing quietly, hardly moving, and even though it was mid-afternoon, Booker found himself wondering if it could be a vigil of some kind. Had a city luminary just died?

Without exactly knowing why, he started across the square to join the growing ranks of silent adults. It was all adults here, he noticed—and far more men than women. Fifty-odd onlookers were arrayed in a loose circle around some kind of wooden contraption that Booker was having trouble recognizing from the edge of the crowd. Curiosity winning out over common sense, he squeezed between bodies, murmuring apologies in a broken rendition of the local dialect. No one responded and no one moved aside to clear a path for him. But they didn’t stop him either.

He slowed to a halt as he got to the center of the crowd. Now he could see clearly what the contraption was, and though his mind wanted to believe that he’d stumbled into some kind of harmless historical reenactment, he knew that wasn’t what this was.

There, in the center of the crowd, was a young woman. She was Black and looked to be in her late twenties, maybe, though it was hard to tell for sure with her head bent towards the ground as it was. She was being locked into the pillory by two women while a third spoke in a loud voice that carried across the square.

Booker could not understand a word of the woman’s speech, but it didn’t matter. He might be an outsider here, but he knew about this particular tradition. Most people did, even if they’d never set foot within the city’s limits. Salacious stories always found their way out to the wider world.

He stood off to the side and watched as the woman was locked into the crude wooden contraption. The pillory was clearly old; the planks that gave it its boxy shape were worn by use and warped from the elements. A few planks along the bottom held the sides together while at the top, there was a hinged opening where the woman’s head and hands were being confined. It had obviously been built for men; the young woman had to stretch up onto her toes to reach the openings. The padlock that secured her in place was as big as a fist.

For the first time, Booker’s eyes left her and he found himself looking around at the surrounding crowd. It was mostly men for a reason, he realized now. His eyes moved from face to face, watching the way their gazes raked over her like she was theirs for the taking.

Which, he supposed, she was.

When he looked back to the young woman, he saw that she was surveying the crowd too. Her face was impassive as she took the measure of her compatriots. If she was nervous, she did not let it show. When her eyes happened to meet his, Booker immediately averted his, and pushed his way out of the crowd. The woman in charge was still calling out in that unintelligible language, but Booker was past trying to decipher her words. He needed to get back to his hotel and stay there.

Less than twelve hours and he would be out of this strange place.

He whiled away the rest of the afternoon staring at the ceiling of his hotel room, trying and failing not to think about that woman in the pillory. He wondered how it felt, to stand there in the hot sun, knowing what would happen to you once night fell. How long had she weighed the pros and cons before offering herself up? He had heard that there were checks in place, guards to ensure that sex under these particular circumstances did not become rape, but how reliable could they possibly be? The questions circled around in his head as fascination and disgust mingled in his gut.

Less than eight hours to go and he’d be on the water. Away from here. All of this would be nothing more than an uncomfortable memory.

He closed his eyes and prayed for sleep that never came.

It was barely an hour past dusk when Booker heard a faint creaking filter in through the open window of his hotel room. He told himself it was just the ships—he was very near the harbor, after all. But there was no mistaking the sound for what it was as it intensified. No mistaking the guttural male groans and desperate feminine cries, and the rock, rock, rocking of that pillory against the uneven cobbles. Booker knew only a handful of phrases in the local language, but it was enough to translate the one word she kept screaming. _Yes, yes, yes!_

Even from six streets away, the sound of their rutting was making him hard.

Booker did his best to try to focus on something else. He went over the itinerary for tomorrow in his head. He unpacked and repacked his single duffel bag. He made sure he had the right forged documents to present, and enough cash to bribe the ship’s officials if needed. He cleaned his gun until it was pristine, and he sharpened his pocketknife until just touching the blade drew blood.

And he listened to the silence in between listening to her.

This section of the city was virtually noiseless, save for the sounds radiating out from the square. There were no cars on the roads, no radios blaring, no people walking or talking. There was nothing but the darkness outside, and her out there in it, open to whoever chose to seek her out.

Booker managed to make it until after midnight before he joined the ranks of those… Degenerates? Hedonists? Opportunists? Even he didn’t know what he was. All he knew was that her cries were like a siren song and he was powerless to resist.

He could hear a man fucking her as he hurried along the dark streets. Deep grunts and the slaps of skin against skin accompanied his quick footfalls over the cobbles. Booker was torn between arousal and fear; he knew he was courting danger by being out alone this late, but he had already come twice by his own hand since sundown and it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed _her._

She was alone in the pillory when he finally reached the square. The man she’d last been with was gone, but immediately, Booker’s eyes scanned the area, and he felt so very primitive for the way his gaze sought not muggers or constables but simply _men._ Any man was a threat now, any that stood in the way of what he now believed he could not do without. He knew he would never, ever come back here, and he could not set foot on that ship tomorrow without first having had her.

He approached her from the back, not wanting to give her any time to look at him. He walked slowly, struggling not to heed the pounding in his chest. He was very aware that there must be people watching him. He could not see them, hidden away as they must be in their darkened cars and houses and alleyways, but he knew they were there. The moon was full and bright where it hung in the sky; he knew its light allowed both of them to be easily seen through the gloom. It made Booker wonder if this day had been chosen specifically.

She was still wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing earlier in the afternoon when they’d locked her in the pillory. The realization surprised him—he had, for some reason, thought she would be naked by now. But she stood still wearing the black skirt and white tank top she’d been imprisoned in. It wasn’t until he got closer that Booker realized her skirt had been pushed so far up her torso that her ass was completely exposed to anyone who might see, or touch. Or take. Booker felt a near-painful flush of lust when he looked down and saw her panties still dangling around her right foot.

Just as before, her toes could barely reach the bottommost plank. She hung more than stood, motionless in the warm summer evening as he stared at her silhouette from behind. He could still walk away. He didn’t have to be a party to this peculiar custom. Once he was in the next city, he could find a woman somewhere, any woman, and have her instead.

But he knew this one would haunt him.

Unlike every other missed opportunity he had squandered away in his life, he was not going to let this pass by. He stepped up behind her and cupped her bare waist. He brushed his thumbs against the soft skin of her lower back, searching his mind for something to say. He wanted to explain himself, but he could not find the words. It was not only the language barrier that was stymieing him. It was his own consciousness too, his own dark desires. Once upon a time, he had liked to think he was better than this. Better than the men who did things like this.

But he was not, and perhaps he never had been. Because when he looked down at her in the moonlight, restrained in front of him, all he could see were the traces of the others who had taken her first and all he felt was jealousy. He knew other men had been here before him, he had heard them, but to see the proof of it with his own eyes? That was something else altogether. Their come had trickled down her legs, dry in some places and still wet and seeping in others, and the sight of it all was starting to make him lightheaded.

And yet when faced with her standing there alone, on display and virtually powerless, it almost seemed like she was waiting only for him.

A lover he didn’t have to woo.

A whore he didn’t have to pay.

He would never return here, and no one had stopped him thus far, so why not?

Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, Booker was sliding a hand between her legs. Her folds were hot and wet and swollen from overuse. Although her legs twitched at his touch, she did not pull away. When he slid a thick finger inside, she did not make a sound, but he swore, overwhelmed by all the come he could feel still inside her. He slipped another finger in, just to spread her open wide and watch the seed of other men slide out and splatter onto the ground. His cock strained painfully against his pants as he watched, and he was grateful now that he’d taken himself in hand earlier. If he had gone to her at the first sign of arousal, he would’ve climaxed before ever entering her, and what a waste that would have been.

Booker withdrew his fingers after a few seconds, and surveyed the back of her head. He knew women in this city willingly submitted themselves to this, but he could not imagine every encounter was wanted. How to ask her? He searched every corner of his mind, but in the end, he could only come up with one word in her language, the one he had heard her crying out before:

_“Yes?”_

He waited for the returning _No._ He waited for the curses he wouldn’t be able to to translate, or worse, the silence he wouldn’t be able to take.

But she did not curse him. And she did not stay silent. And she did not say _No_.

 _“Yes.”_ Her voice was quiet, but fully aware. He could tell she knew what he was asking for, and what she was answering. She did not sound drugged or exhausted or scared. And then, just when he was wondering if any of that meant anything at all, she added, _“More.”_

He felt fire scorch through his veins, and he did not attempt to tamp it down. He was ready to let his desire burn hot and fast and high, and he didn’t care what ashes would be left behind. He wanted it to consume them both.

Booker took ahold of her waist again, as much to steady his spinning head as to position himself. He adjusted his feet. He smoothed his hands over the fleshy mounds of her buttocks, and then, just because he could, he stroked his thumb down the cleft of her ass. He teased the little hole and listened to her mewl—with want, with dissent, he wasn’t sure. But he was sure that someone else had already been there first, and recently. Her asshole was slick with come, and looser than it would ordinarily be. He rubbed his thumb against it a couple more times before moving on.

Somehow, when he slid two fingers back inside her, she felt even looser than before. She was so wet and stretched wide that he bet he’d be able to fit his fist inside her without too much difficulty. But the thought only appealed to him in the abstract; what he wanted most was to have his cock inside her as soon as possible. He wanted to add his come to the others’ inside her, and he wanted to erase theirs too. He added a third finger, and listened to the soft sound she let out. Maybe it was discomfort, maybe it was longing; he didn’t know. And at this moment, he didn’t care.

He leaned forward, pressing his crotch against her ass, smiling to himself when he heard her moan. She was saying something, but he couldn’t translate a single word beyond a _Yes_ somewhere in there. It was enough.

He pulled his fingers out of her, wiping the stickiness off on the side of her right thigh before reaching for his belt. He tore through the button and zipper, shoving his pants and underwear down to his ankles. He was too far gone to care who was watching, or what they thought. He steadied her hip with one hand and took himself in the other, guiding himself to her entrance. He didn’t tease or test her with it. He took only a second to center himself, and then with one thrust, he slammed all the way inside her, simply because he knew he could.

She was slick with so much come, and stretched wide by so many cocks, it was a wonder she even felt him, but she did. The breath that left her sounded bruised as it hit the air, and he grinned at the sound.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, speaking mostly to himself because he knew she couldn’t understand. He didn’t need her to. Based on the way she was pushing her ass back into him, he figured they could communicate just fine without words.

He pulled out slow, liking the low moan she let out as he did so, before tightening his grip on her hips and shoving himself back inside as deep as possible. She gasped at the collision, the sound breaking apart somewhere in her hoarse throat, but he didn’t give her time to adjust. He held her in place and drove himself inside, again and again, listening to the desperate sounds of her cries and the satisfying smack of his balls against her ass as the pillory rocked around them.

He could sense her feet somewhere beneath him, scrambling for purchase as he fucked her mercilessly. Every thrust knocked her off-balance, and the only things keeping her in place seemed to be his hands on her hips and hers locked in the pillory. Booker got the impression that without the two steadying forces, she’d collapse on the ground. The thought of her sprawled out on the stones beneath them did something to him, and he held onto her even tighter. He knew he was bruising her, but he couldn’t find it in him to care, much less let go.

He could hear her mumbling something, incoherent whispers from the other side of the pillory, and despite the twin barriers of wood and language separating them, he found himself talking back.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Her channel was so slick with come it felt like his cock was swimming in it. Every time he pulled back, he worried he might slip all the way out by accident. “God, you’re full of it. You’re overflowing with it. How have you not had enough?”

The sucking sound her body made as it took him in again and again and again was certifiably obscene, and he loved it. If the sound of her high-pitched whining was anything to go off of, she loved it too, and the thought made him smile as he bore down on her. He wasn’t going to last much longer, but he wanted to take everything she had before he finally spent himself.

So he slammed into her, fucking her harder and faster and deeper than he ever had with anyone else before. Every time he rammed into her, they both cried out, and soon it was impossible to tell their ravaged voices apart. He finally came in a fierce burst, the world exploding around him as he squeezed his eyes shut and drove so deep into her that she shrieked.

He nearly collapsed, his whole body going boneless as he saw stars swim in his vision. When he blinked, they didn’t go away, and he had to dig his nails into her skin to keep himself upright. It was a miracle they hadn’t toppled the whole contraption over. He could hear her babbling, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus. His lungs were burning, and it felt like his heart was trying to run away with him. He struggled to take deep breaths, trying to get his head on straight before he pulled out.

And that’s when he heard her clearly for the first time.

She was speaking to him, saying one of the few words in her language that he actually knew.

_More._

He stood there and breathed, his whole body heaving with the effort, waiting for his ears to stop ringing and his head to clear. She hadn’t really said _more_ , had she? After all she’d gotten tonight, and all she would no doubt get later, why would she ask for anything else? _How_ could she?

But there it was again.

 _“More.”_ He could see her shoulders shaking, and he wondered wildly if she was crying. _“More, please.”_

She repeated the phrase in what sounded like three different languages, but he didn’t recognize a single one. He looked down at himself, half-naked, sweating, his softening cock still buried within her, slathered in his own release and who knew how many others’. He was stone-cold sober, but in that moment he felt drunker than he’d ever been in his entire life. And maybe that’s what made him do what he did next.

She was still talking, no doubt continuing her pleas for more, but he ignored them and instead shuffled forward until his front was pressed close against her back. She did not tense at his touch, but the pillory did rattle a little and her elbows jerked side to side. He smiled at the thought of her trying to reach back and touch him. He had moved past exhaustion, past disbelief… And now he liked the idea that she was still, _somehow_ , after all of that—still unsatisfied.

Booker lifted his head a fraction, balancing his chin against her back before pressing a kiss to the patch of bare skin between her shoulder blades not covered by her tank top. He felt her grow still, and for a moment, the entire city was silent around them. Then he kissed her again, murmured the words _Thank you_ in his own language and hers, and pulled out. She gave off a little whimper at the loss of him, but he was too busy watching the come slide out of her and onto the ground to notice. There was a puddle beneath her now. He reached for his pants, tucking himself away. He could still hear her begging for _more, more, more_.

As he stepped back, he gave her ass a final squeeze and a parting spank for good measure, which made her squeal so loud he wished he’d done it before. Then he tugged her skirt back down to cover her bare ass and he headed back the way he’d come. Her indignant cries followed after him, demanding _more_ and much else besides, but he didn’t look back. He knew someone else would come soon enough to finish what he started. One way or another, she'd get what she wanted just as he had.

**Author's Note:**

> I won’t lie, I nearly locked this story. I might still. I'm very nervous about it. 
> 
> @OP, if you’re reading this, I hope it met your expectations. I know you were probably expecting a dubcon/noncon fill, but it appears I am incapable of writing noncon for these two. 🤷♀️
> 
> Thanks all for reading. Feel free to leave your comments below…


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